


War and Peace

by DreamingAngelWolf



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Aleksander schemes, Alina despairs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mal is angst-free, Nikolai charms, mild introspection, no royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24894514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: With war threatening her country, Alina Starkov must come to terms with her role in maintaining balance between Ravka’s tentatively united powers: the Lantsov family, and Aleksander Morozova and the Grisha who follow him.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Alina Starkov (one-sided), The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov (past)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	War and Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This happened purely because I wanted a world where Grisha uniform was coloured leather jackets! Was originally supposed to be a crime family piece, but then no crimes actually happened... may rectify that with a few crows at some point ;-)

At the school Alina and Mal went to as children, it was commonplace for some of the students to pretend to be Grisha during lunch breaks. They would each choose the order they wanted to be part of, and then pretend to fight off all manner of monsters and villains - Fjerdan soldiers, Shu Han bandits, volcra, sometimes even the legendary sea whip or firebird. If actual Grisha children had seen them, they would probably have laughed at their mimicry (some of the children who had no desire to pretend to be magical did). There was one year a large fight broke out between some students about whether being Grisha was good or not, and the teachers intervened by banning any Grisha-related games, claiming they caused ‘too much disruption’.

In secondary school, things were no less tense, though nobody was running around pretending to stop the hearts of various enemies. Grisha were whispered about in the corridors, either in admiration or derision. Teenagers would parrot their parents’ beliefs, then declare themselves in full agreement or strong disagreement. Those who wanted to be Grisha would try their best to emulate them - pocket lighters, water bombs, an interest in herbal remedies and first aid. One boy even made endless paper clip ‘sculptures’ before his locker was broken into and they were found bent out of shape, strewn across the corridor floor. But what most frequently made the rounds in terms of Grisha gossip was a title, whispered in awe and scoffed at with false bravado: the Darkling, the rumoured leader of a Grisha gang. In the more fanciful stories, he was either a handsome leader who saved lone Grisha or a ruthless criminal who cut down anyone bearing Grisha ill-will. They said he was ancient, with power over darkness. They said he had his very own army of shadows. They said he was the last of his line, but that he traded his name for power long ago.

Alina and Mal didn’t need Ana Kuya’s instruction to stay out of it.

At the Keramzin Children’s Home where they grew up, every child underwent Grisha assessment. If they showed no signs of power, they remained under the care of Ana Kuya; if power was found within them, they were taken to ‘a more appropriate’ home. Supposedly, this wasn’t a bad thing - the lucky ones were well treated, given a good, privately-funded education, and taught how to understand, develop and control their powers. Sometimes, there were jobs available. Grisha could be approached to work for Ravka, aiding with expansion and construction; some chose to work in hospitals, or out on the seas; there were many who even directly joined the State’s Grisha Army. It was entirely possible, too, for Grisha to take up normal jobs, albeit they had to do so with clear indication of their true nature, and the strict promise to keep said nature tightly under wraps (with a heavily implied ‘or else’). Indeed, compared to living in Fjerda or Shu Han, there was nothing inherently wrong with being a Ravkan Grisha at all.

Yet that didn’t stop Alina smothering her power the day she and Mal underwent assessment, and hiding it nearly every day thereafter.

***

_People were screaming. Dust and debris coated the high street, turning everything more than six feet away into shadows coming in and out of focus. The sound of gunfire echoed nearby, possibly coming closer, possibly not._

_Knelt over Mal, blood seeping through her fingers from a gash at the back of his head, Alina squinted frantically at the surrounding cloud that had enveloped them, heart pounding in her chest. They needed to move off the street. What if another bomb went off? What if that gunfire wasn’t the police? Was it even safe for her to try and move Mal when he was injured this way? Which way even was ‘off the street’?_

_A figure took shape before them, approaching steadily. Before it was fully visible, the voice in Alina’s head was screaming at her to move. Apologising, she started dragging Mal across the ground, begging him to try getting his feet beneath him, his blood trailing in a light smear after them. But it was no use; the shadow became a man, became a Fjerdan, and he bore them no mercy as he raised the gun -_

A piercing metal-on-metal squeal shocked Alina awake. Blinking at the grey but bright light, she sat up in her seat, stretching out her cramped shoulders and doing her best to cover a yawn.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

Alina threw Mal an ineffective glare, sighing through her nose as she tried to get comfortable again. “Are we there?” she asked, though the view out of the train window already told her as much.

“We’re about five minutes out. Tolya rang; he and Tamar are going to meet us on the platform.”

“Did Nikolai send them?”

“He… didn’t say.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t, or wouldn’t?” When Mal wasn’t forthcoming with an answer, she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, it’s not like Aleksander doesn’t know they’re loyal to Nikolai. He isn’t going to try and assassinate them for turning down a kefta.”

This time, it was Mal who raised the eyebrow. “Wouldn’t he?”

“ _No_. He wants us united, he isn’t going to kill people for choosing which leader they want to follow.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t looking to keep as much of an edge over Nikolai as he can.”

Alina contemplated kicking him in the shin, but settled for scowling out of the window. This was a tired debate between them, and not one she had the energy to engage in. Automatically, her hand went to the choker around her throat, fingers playing with the interlocking white-gold antler design absently. She knew why people didn’t trust Aleksander - hell, she wasn’t sure if she did anymore - but if Nikolai was trying to irk him by flouting the Grisha who’d sided under his banner, that would only drive further wedges between everyone, and for all his flaws, Aleksander was right about one thing: they needed to remain united, now more than ever.

For the last few decades, Fjerdan gangs and Shu Han triads had been waging an underground war with Ravkan crime families for power over the land’s central country of Ravka, but thanks to a recent unification between the two remaining Ravkan dynasties, that war was on the brink of coming to a close. Street violence was at an all-time low, and kept mainly out of the busier, more populated towns and cities. Communication had even been established - begrudgingly at first - with leaders from all sides. Alina wanted desperately to believe that they would see peace before the year was out, but she was deeply concerned that Ravka was balanced on a knife’s edge, ready to tip either way. On one side, there was a truce across the underworld, and a chance for her country to focus on healing itself; on the other side, the country split itself apart through in-fighting and petty politics, a free-for-all for Fjerdan, Shu and Ravkan alike, perhaps even Kerch if they fancied joining in the fray. The citizens didn’t deserve to be caught up in that, Grisha or otkazat’sya.

Once the train pulled into Os Alta Central, it didn’t take Alina and Mal long to find Tolya and Tamar. Tolya towered over everyone else at the station, and with Tamar scrutinising anyone who came within reaching distance of them, the twins had a fair bit of clear space around them. As they laid eyes on her, Alina found herself smiling, and hoped that they really weren’t here as part of a ploy by Nikolai.

Tamar embraced her briefly, then gave her an appraising once-over. “Well,” she said, “you don’t look much different than when you left.”

Alina rolled her eyes over the sound of Tolya knocking the wind out of Mal with a thump on the back. “For a priest, the Apparat is incredibly politically talented. He didn’t try to convert me, but he did spend an awful lot of time trying to convince me to strike out on my own with his followers as my ‘army’.”

“So you didn’t undergo a religious transformation, then?”

“More like a religious turning-off.”

She barked out a laugh. “Nikolai will be relieved.”

Deciding to bite the bullet there and then, Alina said, “I suppose he wants to see me, doesn’t he?”

The twins exchanged a fleeting glance. “He did ask us to pass on a message for you,” Tolya admitted, continuing when prompted: “When you next have some free time, he’d like to have lunch with you.”

“And he couldn’t just text me that himself because…?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Mal answered drily. He was probably right. For someone who spent so long away from his family’s underworld dealings, Nikolai seemingly loved playing up to the image of an in-demand mob boss. Had she been in Tolya and Tamar’s shoes, Alina would have been insulted by the way he insisted on using them as messengers. The twins were apparently perfectly happy working for him, though.

“Better to be treated as someone useful than a pawn on a general’s chess board,” Tolya had once said, and Alina was under no illusion as to who the ‘general’ was.

With little else planned for the day, Alina decided she’d meet Nikolai in the afternoon, eager to have a chance to go home and freshen up a bit following the long journey back from Novyi Zem. Rather than force Tolya and Tamar to play messengers again, she texted Nikolai herself, and received a reply as the four of them stepped through the front of her modest apartment block.

“What did he say?” Mal asked as Alina snorted at her phone. She angled it towards him so he could see the response. “Grinning face, train, waving hand, running woman, dinner plate, love heart.” He looked back up at her. “You understand that?”

Slipping her phone away, she nodded solemnly. “I speak fluent Nikolai now.”

“Why does he feel the need to communicate through emojis?”

Alina started dragging her case up the stairs. “We must all embrace the modern ways of communication, lest they soon become the one thing all cultures have in common.”

Mal pulled a face. “Saints, you even sound like him.”

When she was finally in her own room again, Alina took the opportunity to flop on her bed and, in one big gust of air, attempted to sigh away all her troubles. To say she hadn’t enjoyed her short stay with the Apparat was an understatement, and she had never been more grateful for the sparse four walls of her bedroom. Taking the time to enjoy the momentary solitude, she put some music on and unpacked leisurely, agreeing with Nikolai she’d message him when she was on the way. There was no doubt in her mind it was as much a ‘business’ meeting as it was a social one, but she didn’t want to be thinking about what she’d tell him of her time in Novyi Zem. Instead, she focused on changing out of her travelling clothes into something a bit lighter (and, admittedly, more befitting of someone dining with effective royalty). She opened her wardrobe, and immediately her gaze was drawn to the jacket hanging innocuously on the back of one door.

Made of smooth, genuine leather, the white jacket had a warm inner lining and was tailored to perfectly fit her. The pockets were outlined in gold stitching and decorated with golden poppers etched with a sun design, and the sleeve cuffs were similarly decorated in a gold-thread pattern, the design subtle yet captivating. The main zip extended all the way up, allowing the collar to be turned up or folded down as desired, something Alina was grateful for during Ravka’s cooler days. It was a jacket all Grisha under Aleksander’s care were given, a kefta, but this one - tailor made and one of a kind - was as unique as the girl it was designed for. Even Nikolai appreciated it.

Knowing the Apparat as she did now, Alina was eternally grateful she’d decided to leave it behind for the trip to Novyi Zem; had he seen her in it, the man would probably have declared her a Saint on the spot.

Beyond her bedroom door, the sound of new voices rose up. Shaking thoughts of the Apparat away, Alina pulled out one of her nicer dresses and unhooked the kefta from its hanger, trusting that it would be warm enough for her to get away with just that. Grabbing her boots, she ventured outside with another quick text to Nikolai, asking him where to meet.

In the time she’d spent unpacking and changing, her and Mal’s living room had been overrun by their close friends, more of the apartment block’s residents: Zoya and Nadia had joined Tamar on one sofa, with Harshaw (and Oncat) perched on the arm closest to Zoya, while Genya and David sat together on the other. Tolya was stood conversing with Nadia’s brother, Adrik, while Ruby chatted with Mal in the kitchen, helping to get tea sorted for everyone. With the exception of Mal and Ruby, having so many Grisha together from different orders made something swell warmly in Alina’s chest. For all that he’d done to unite Grisha under his banner, Aleksander’s views were still largely traditionalist, favouring segregation by order with thinly-disguised elitism - she wondered fleetingly what he’d make of the sight before her. Nikolai, she knew, would greatly approve.

Genya was the first to notice her presence, and was up to greet her in a heartbeat. She asked about the journey, tutting at the state of Alina’s hair and pushing her onto the sofa next to David for a touch-up before Alina could protest. “Your brush is fine for getting knots out,” she said, “but it can’t give you style like I can, darling.”

“Do I need style?” Alina groused, and Genya shot her an unimpressed look.

“Alina, you’re meeting Nikolai later. Style is worth a hundred words with him where you’re concerned.”

Alina flushed almost as red as Harshaw’s hair. Zoya snickered. “How did you know that, anyway?”

“He just texted you,” she said absently, and Alina thumbed her phone open, groaning at the message awaiting her.

“Now that’s not the noise one expects to hear when someone’s just been privately messaged by a prince,” Zoya commented.

“He’s not a prince,” Alina said automatically.

“Keep telling yourself that. So go on, then, why the long face?”

“Apparently I have to meet him at his father’s estate.”

“Oh, no,” Zoya drawled, “not the exquisitely luxurious Lantsov family estate. Just how much worse can this day get?”

“It could unexpectedly snow,” Harshaw chimed in, so engrossed with a little ball of fire weaving rapidly between his fingers for Oncat’s entertainment that he missed the look of exasperation she threw at him.

“It just means I’m more likely to be drawn into family politics,” Alina said as Genya finished with her hair and Mal and Ruby appeared with tea. “And after the week I’ve just had, I’d like a break from talk of alliances and war.”

“What was Novyi Zem like?” Nadia asked.

“What was the Apparat like?” Adrik added.

Taking a much-needed gulp of tea, Alina said, “A _creep_ ,” and regaled them all with the story.

***

As much as she would have preferred to stay and chat with her friends, Alina soon had to bid them all farewell, and meet Nikolai as arranged. Tolya and Tamar drove her and Mal to the Lantsov estate, Mal accompanying her more as a sounding board for her grievances with Alexander Lantsov than anything, though Tolya promised some sparring time with him. She was grateful for his presence, knowing how he disliked visiting the crime family’s home, but at the same time Alina envied his ability to avoid the ‘business’ side of things as he pleased while she remained implicitly obligated to participate. There were days where she imagined what their lives would be like if they hadn’t been caught in that Fjerdan attack, and wondered just how her view of the house they arrived at would differ with a greater distance between her and it.

The house in question was nicknamed the Little Palace on account of its opulent yet smaller-than-normal-palaces build. Three storeys tall, its white stone façade gleamed, even under the weak sky, the balconies and terraces abundant with statues, the windows framed in gold. Every available surface had some kind of creature carved into it - birds, reindeer, wolves, rabbits, lions, bears, even dragons. Most garish of all was the fountain that took pride of place in the main courtyard, water spewing from the open beaks of a golden, two-headed eagle, its wings raised high. The Lantsov family crest. Alina recalled the first time she’d laid eyes upon the Little Palace, her jaw open just like the eagle’s beaks, and Aleksander had snorted lightly and called the whole display garish. “Anyone looking for a Lantsov won’t have any trouble,” he’d said. Now that she knew the Lantsovs better, Alina understood his disdain for the place.

She approached the front doors alone, the others disappearing around the back to park the car and see to their own pastimes. The silver door knockers (two of them, each one another eagle head) rapped loudly, even as she tried to be gentle, and a servant appeared quickly to usher her inside. “I’m here to see Nikolai,” she said and the servant nodded and beckoned her to follow, taking her up to the second floor. Voices carried out into the large, marble hallway, Alina recognising them easily, and she sent a quick prayer to whichever Saint was listening that she wouldn’t be taken into the main parlour room.

A door at the opposite end of the hallway opened, and a small troupe of women stepped through. At the centre was a woman in an elegant, pale blue dress, a heavy diamond necklace glinting on her chest, her shining blonde hair styled in thick waves down her shoulders. Alina’s first thought was that Genya could do a much better job than whoever had helped Nikolai’s mother dress that morning, but Genya had done her time as ‘The Queen’s’ personal stylist, and was happier for having left. The group passed Alina without breaking discussion or formation, the only acknowledgement a brief meeting of the eyes, and she was more than fine with that. Beautiful as she was, the woman had earned her royal nickname for a reason, and Alina knew better than to draw her ire.

To her dismay, the servant led her into the main parlour room, announcing her arrival to the room’s occupants before Alina could beg her not to. She stepped in with her chin up anyway, taking in the scene before her: a ring of four large, white, hard-backed sofas sat around a glass coffee table laden with a decanter of kvas, caviar pots, small plates of blini and a dish of sour cream. On the sofa directly opposite her sat Alexander Lantsov, tucked into the corner so he could better speak to his son, Vasily, who occupied the sofa to Alina’s right; and, like a splash of ink on a clean sheet of paper, the sofa on the left was taken up by none other than Aleksander Morozova, looking thoroughly disinterested in everything until his gaze found her, a sharp relief flashing through his cold eyes.

When the servant took her leave, Alina stepped forward, approaching the empty sofa nearest her. The sound of her boots on the marble floor seemed to be a signal to ‘King’ Lantsov, and he finally acknowledged her presence with a clear “Alina, do sit,” before resuming talk of upcoming horse races and how to sway the betting with Vasily.

Forcing a smile, she did as commanded, choosing the other end of the sofa Aleksander had claimed and perching on the edge of it. He watched her sit from where he reclined, some of the coldness gone from his eyes as he dipped his head in greeting, a soft “Alina,” leaving his lips.

She reciprocated. “Aleksander.” Beneath Lantsov and Vasily’s laughter, she heard a deep exhale of breath soft enough that there was every possibility she imagined it.

With their conversation evidently at an end, Lantsov reached for his tea and turned his attention to Alina. “I didn’t expect you to check in so soon after your trip today, Alina,” he said, somewhat pointedly.

Smiling again, she said, “Actually, I stopped by to meet with Nikolai.”

Opposite her, Vasily scoffed, scooping a caviar-laden blini into his mouth. “Nikolai? He hasn’t been here since this morning. Off playing with his airplanes, or whatever it is he’s interested in these days.”

Alina frowned. “Oh… But he invited -” Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket, and despite the company, she pulled it out. A message from Nikolai displayed on the front: a running man, a clock face, and a rabbit. She couldn’t hide her disappointment; “He says he’s running late.”

Lantsov tutted loudly, then called over a servant to demand more caviar. As he spoke, Aleksander quietly commented, “I was under the impression Nikolai always arrived exactly when he intended to,” and Alina scowled at him, texting Nikolai back as the servants cleared empty dishes and glasses from the table.

_If you’ve set me up, you are going to be in serious trouble later!_

_You know I’ll make it up to you ;-)_

Alina shoved her phone away with a huff.

“Well then,” Lantsov said. “No sense in making your trip a wasted one, Alina. Tell us what happened in Novyi Zem. Was the Apparat agreeable?”

Barely refraining from shuddering at the thought of the man, Alina said, “I wouldn’t say ‘agreeable’.”

“There’s a surprise,” Vasily muttered.

“But he knows more than we’ve given him credit for. I got the impression that he has a far greater network than we anticipated, even with the Fold and the True Sea between us and him. I wouldn’t be surprised if his spies have infiltrated our ranks, somehow.”

“Maybe so,” Lantsov said dismissively whilst Aleksander frowned, “but did you talk to him about an alliance?”

Pushing back her irritation, she said, “Eventually, yes.”

“And?”

“He has only one condition.”

“Only one?” Lantsov said, sitting up brightly.

Alina nodded. “He wants me to become the leader of his people in Novyi Zem.”

The pleasure quickly drained out of Lantsov’s face, and even Vasily looked mildly miffed. Beside her, Aleksander shook his head, saying, “Of course he does.”

Lantsov turned on him sharply. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “If the Apparat is as well informed as Alina suggests, then word of her power has undoubtedly already reached him. Were he to have her on his side as the link between Novyi Zem and Ravka, I imagine he would seek the opportunity to manipulate the war to his own ends, either by raising Novyi Zem’s own power or finding a way to spread his influence through our country, and gain control of it from underneath us.” Glancing Alina’s way, he added, “He may even test her against the Fold.”

Straightening his suit jacket, Vasily waved a hand in an aimless gesture. “That seems like a bit of a stretch to me,” he said. “Just because the man might have a few more spies than we thought doesn’t mean that he’s out to steal Ravka from us, too. The man’s a priest, for Saints’ sake. He of all people knows what happens to those who seek too much power.”

“As do we, no?”

Vasily stared at him, lip curling at the corner. Fortunately for him, the servants arrived with fresh food, and in the pause their distraction offered his father picked the discussion back up. “You didn’t agree to anything, did you, Alina?”

“No,” she said, only slightly insulted by his lack of faith in her. “I told him I’d relay his terms back to you and that was that.”

Nodding as if he approved, Lantsov sipped his kvas. Looking deep in thought, he waved a finger in Aleksander’s direction. “What you said about the Apparat wanting to seize control - could we turn the tables on him before he did that?”

“How so?”

He gestured at Alina. “Well, if we sent Alina over like he wants, couldn’t she act as our voice in Novyi Zem and gain us another power foothold?”

“What?” Alina blurted as Vasily hummed in agreement around another mouthful of caviar.

“Use your power,” he continued, “get him to do your bidding. Put those spies of his to better use. Saints, why not try against the Fold while you’re at it?”

“That’s ridiculous!” she said, ignoring a warning look from Aleksander. “He would never let himself be manipulated so easily.”

“All men have a weakness,” Vasily said.

“And clearly,” Lantsov added, “the Apparat’s is you.”

“You didn’t spend a week with him,” Alina snapped. “He is far too clever and his own network too entrenched for him to be pushed out now, especially from someone like me!”

A vein started showing on Lantsov’s head. “Are you refusing to act in your country’s best interest, Alina?”

“I agree with her,” Aleksander said as she opened her mouth to reply, and all attention was drawn once more to him. “It’s clear we don’t know enough about the Apparat to make any kind of move on him, least of all by sending Alina overseas. The Fold, we’ve already discussed.” Lantsov grumbled into his glass. “I believe she can do much more for our cause here, still.”

“Ah, finally,” a new voice said, “something we can agree on, Aleksander.” Everyone turned to see Nikolai stroll into the room, his bright coat slung over one arm, a smirk already on his face. “Afternoon, all,” he said breezily, and dropped into the empty sofa across from his father, the coat dumped into the space beside him.

Eyeing his brother suspiciously, Vasily said, “You’re late, Nikolai,” he said as the latter inquired about a glass of kvas. “Care to explain yourself?”

“Well, you know what traffic’s like towards the middle of the working day, Vasily,” Nikolai said easily, making his brother frown in confusion, “though from the sounds of the conversation I’d say I arrived at the perfect time. What’s all this about sending Alina overseas again?”

With a faint but impatient sigh, Lantsov explained, “The Apparat will agree to be our ally if Alina goes to lend her assistance to him in Novyi Zem.”

Nikolai laughed once. “And so he can use her as a puppet, no doubt. No offense, Alina.”

“It could be an opportunity for us to expand our own influence,” Lantsov insisted.

“Or a chance for us all to be made fools of. I’m against the idea, which I believe makes it three against two, no?”

Lantsov raised his hands. “Fine! We’ll politely decline the Apparat, and without sending Alina or anyone else to Novyi Zem again,” he said crossly. Alina gave Nikolai a grateful smile, and he winked at her in return.

Vasily coughed, fidgeting with his glass. “Thinking about it,” he said, “the idea of Alina leading an army on the Apparat’s behalf is a bit of a joke, I suppose.”

Tilting his head, Nikolai said, “Which idea? That Alina could lead an army, or that anyone could lead the Apparat’s people?”

He flushed, eyes narrowing at his younger brother before he said, “That someone could lead the Apparat’s people.”

“I see,” Nikolai said, nodding in understanding. Then, “It’s not a very funny joke if you have to explain it, is it?”

Had the company been different, Alina might have been smothering a laugh at the jab, however as the butt of Vasily’s ‘joke’, she was in no mood for laughter. She chanced a glance Aleksander’s way. To anyone else, he must have looked as impassive as usual; to Alina, the look in his eyes was as dangerous as she’d ever seen him.

“If that’s shelved then,” their father interrupted, “what else is there to discuss?”

With the meeting officially underway, talk passed between various power plays that needed making and the latest intelligence from the few outreaches in Ravka, Fjerda and Shu Han the Lantsovs still had. Alina half paid attention; she was only ever included in such meetings as a courtesy, with just Nikolai and Aleksander really asking for her opinion on things. Such was the way today, when she was asked to contribute to Aleksander’s point about touching base with some of the Grisha boarding schools they donated supplies to, and Nikolai’s plans for a new outpost located in the highest reaches of the Sikurzoi mountains. By the time the meeting was over, the remaining blini and sour cream looked distinctly unappetising, Lantsov and Vasily had gone through almost all the caviar between them, and Alina was practically chomping at the bit to be free of the awful show. Luckily, so was Nikolai. As they left the parlour room, a smooth voice called her attention, and she turned to find Aleksander a few paces behind. She signalled to Nikolai she’d catch up with him, and Aleksander approached.

“You shouldn’t pay heed to Vasily’s words,” he told her without preamble (or lowering his voice). “He’s ignorant of what it means to have earned leadership. People would follow you without hesitation after meeting you.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Alina responded, “I know. You had similar plans for me at one time, remember?”

A flicker of something passed over his features. She pretended it was shame. “Once we’ve gathered all the equipment for the school donations,” he said, “I’d like you to assist me in allocating and distributing them.”

“Why?”

“Because your input would be valuable, and it would please the other Grisha - older and younger - to see you involved. As an orphan yourself, you already have a connection with these children.”

“A connection you want to exploit?”

Another fleeting emotion flashed across his face too quickly for her to pinpoint. “Use, yes; exploit, no,” he said, tone softening on the last words. He lifted a hand as if to repeat an old gesture, but before she felt the brush of his fingers against the choker at her neck he aborted the motion, eyes darting to something over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch with the finer details,” he said, and with a dip of his head he stepped around her. Alina turned on the spot to follow him, and saw Nikolai lounging in the doorway to the hall, legs outstretched and blocking the way of two Grisha beyond. She recognised one of them as Ivan, Aleksander’s right-hand man. Nikolai only moved to let Aleksander through when they exchanged names in an overly-formal farewell.

“Was that necessary?” she chided him once they were alone again.

He gave her a roguish grin. “I never do anything that isn’t necessary. Now - how does afternoon tea sound?”

***

Alina was hardly surprised to see that the afternoon tea Nikolai suggested had already been prepared in the grounds of the Little Palace, a small table for two set up in a secluded part of the sprawling back patio, complete with a tiered tray of sweet cakes and a samovar. The fact that some of her favourites were ready and waiting to be tasted - still looking as if they were freshly made - told her that, in true Nikolai Lantsov fashion, he’d planned everything well in advance. “Did the traffic impede you in organising this, too?” she teased him as they sat down.

“Not nearly as much as that blasted meeting,” he groaned, opening up the samovar to inspect its contents. “If Vasily brings up logging routes one more time, I’m going to ask a Fabrikator to make a life-sized log sculpture of his likeness.” Alina snorted. “Speaking of which, would you be able to give David a nudge for me the next time you see him? He’s supposed to be emailing me schematics for a modification to the _Bittern_ , but he hasn’t responded to my last reminder.”

Typical David, she thought. “I’ll have a word with Genya. David-whispering is her other talent after tailoring. We don’t think anyone else can master it.”

Groaning lightly, Nikolai said, “Does this mean I’m going to have to make room for one more on the Sikurzoi trip?”

“For Genya?” Alina shrugged. “She might enjoy getting out of Os Alta for a bit. You’ll have to ask her.” He seemed hesitant at the suggestion, but nodded all the same. Things had been… uncomfortable between them since the allegations she made against his father, though Nikolai wasn’t naïve enough to think they weren’t true. Privately, Alina hoped Genya would take him up on the offer, if not to ease things between them then for her own benefit.

“What about you?”

She blinked. “What about me?”

“Do I have to cajole you into coming along as well, or are you going to say ‘yes’ at the first instance?” Smirking, he added, “I know how much of an aversion you have to the word, so I’ll settle for ‘alright’ or ‘okay’ as well.”

Staring at him, confused, she said, “Why on earth would you need me to go with you to the Sikurzoi?”

“To keep me sane,” he answered immediately. “To roll your eyes at me when my ideas get ‘too out of hand’. So there’s at least one person on this expedition I can have scintillating conversation with.”

“You and David -”

“Because I want you there, Alina.”

Her mouth shut with a clack. Sighing softly, she said, “Nikolai,” and he held up a hand.

“This is about more than you and I just being seen together,” he insisted, “although that is a happy side-effect. Hell, it’s even about more than setting up a post close enough to keep an eye on the Shu Han. This is a chance to see what Grisha and otkazat’sya can accomplish together. We can build more than just an outpost for my father and Aleksander to gather intel from - it can be a place where Grisha have the freedom to explore the extent of their powers without the risk of hurting someone, and where ordinary people can learn from them and start the foundations for new ideas to help make Ravka a leading country of innovation. And I truly believe you can be an instrumental part of making that happen.”

Shaking her head, she asked again, “But why me?”

He leant forward across the table, his expression full of that excited passion Alina couldn’t help but love to see in him. “For all of my father’s desire to do right by Ravka, and Aleksander’s brilliance in uniting the Grisha - and, even, the capability of the two of them to usher in an end to this war - they’re both too traditionalist to help move us forward once peace has been achieved. My father likes things the way they are; he can’t handle change and doesn’t want to consider it unless it benefits our family first and foremost. Aleksander might have plans for the future, but they’ll be his own, and they won’t necessarily be good for everyone. You have to admit, the way he keeps his Grisha separated by order is outdated and doesn’t do them any favours.”

He did have a point, and it would have been remiss of Alina to put his criticism of Aleksander down to petty rivalry. “So, what?” she said. “You think me going to this new Sikurzoi base with you will convince them to change their ways?”

“In an ideal world, yes. Realistically, however, I’m hoping it will send a message to everyone else: that in order to truly free ourselves from the mire of this war, we need to reach for the future. We - otkazat’sya and Grisha alike - have to turn our sights from the earth to the skies. And who better to light the way than the Sun Summoner herself?”

Alina threw him a reproachful look at the use of the title. Just as ‘King’ and ‘Prince’ and ‘Darkling’ were all bestowed upon them by people inside and outside the underworld, ‘Sun Summoner’ was something she’d never asked for, and was still uneasy about hearing. She didn’t summon the sun, and she didn’t like the attention it drew to her; her power was light, nothing more, and to give the impression it might be put expectations on her shoulders she was afraid she couldn’t possibly live up to - much like now, when faced with Nikolai’s boundless enthusiasm and optimism, his thirst for more than what he was given. Unbidden, the words of an old woman who had seen too much came to her. Shaking her head she said to Nikolai, “Will you ever stop chasing the impossible?”

Leaning back in his seat, he picked up a small pastry and gave her his most charming smile. “Not while the improbable is just a three-letter word away.”

She dragged a hand through her hair, a few strands catching on the gold bracelet around her wrist. The sun glinted off the scale-like links as she pulled her hair free. Letting out a sigh, she threw her hands up. “I’ll think about it.”

He swallowed the pastry. “So that’s a maybe?” Shrugging, he said, “I’ll take five letters over two.” He looked up at her again, a rare seriousness settling in him. “Beyond all of that,” he said, “is it worth me saying that I believe you would also enjoy yourself? And that you deserve to?”

Alina raised an eyebrow at him to try and mask how close to home his sharp observation might have hit. “Who says I’m not enjoying myself?”

“Oh, please, I’ve heard plenty about the Apparat to know that he must make for desperately dire company. His wardrobe alone is enough to fuel the nightmares of the entire Ravkan high society.”

Unable to help herself, Alina giggled. “You have no idea,” she said. “More than that, though, is the smell.”

“Oh? Do tell. I’ve always imagined it to be a lingering, burnt wood kind of scent. Or that of a wet dog?”

“Worse.”

“Impossible,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. Alina grinned right back, and proved him wrong.

***

“Vasily really said that?”

“Yep. In hindsight, it’s kind of painful in a pitiable way.”

Genya wrinkled her nose. “The awful thing is, I can totally believe it. Why his parents think he’s still fit to succeed his father when the inevitable day comes is beyond me. Did you punch him?”

Alina placed a hand on her chest. “Me? Punch a high-ranking member of the Lantsov family? What do you take me for, Genya?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“The coffee table would have gotten in the way. I had to settle for imagining it.”

Genya laughed, and said, “Well if I ever have the prospect of meeting with disagreeable company, I’ll invite you along and be sure to remove any and all obstacles. I like my furniture too much to let you destroy it in your quest for retribution.”

Settling back against Genya’s sofa, Alina agreed. “Nikolai felt the need to come to my defense, anyway,” she said, and her friend’s lips stretched into a grin.

“Oh did he now?”

“Genya -”

“What did he say?”

“It wasn’t like that -”

“Or did he punch his brother for you?”

“No!”

“You know he would.”

“He just called Vasily out in that subtle, double-entendre way of theirs.” She twisted the bracelet around her wrist. “It wasn’t a big deal. And it would have been worse if Aleksander decided to intervene, so…” Sighing, she gave a one-shouldered shrug. “There’s that.”

Genya’s grin had softened, but she was smiling at Alina in a different way. “Are you aware you do that?” she asked.

Alina frowned. “Do what?”

Pointing at her, she said, “Whenever you talk about one of them, you have a tendency to fiddle with whichever bit of jewellery came from the man in question.”

About to protest, Alina realised exactly where her hand was at that moment in time, and dropped it back into her lap, resolutely not thinking about what that meant. Genya just chuckled.

“You know I only have your best interests at heart, darling.”

She did - Genya had proven so since the day Alina was dragged to stand before the Darkling himself, concrete dust in her hair and clothes, Mal’s blood still on her hands. Nadia claimed they hadn’t seen Genya work such a miracle since the day she got David to knowingly make a joke. “Oh, before I forget,” she said, sensing an opportunity to steer the conversation in a less-personal direction. “Nikolai said David hasn’t been responding to his emails again.”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell him so. What are these ones about?”

“Something about the two of them working on updates for the _Bittern_ , but I think he’s planning on taking David up to the Sikurzoi with him.” Taking a breath, Alina added, “He also mentioned there would be a space for you to go, too, if you were interested?”

Genya blinked at her. “Me?”

“I told him he should ask you directly. He probably will at some point - you know what he and David are like when they get together on an idea, and he’s got big plans for this new project.”

“I’m not doubting his sales-pitching abilities,” Genya said a little drily, “just his reasons.”

“He only has good intentions, Genya.”

“You and I both know that good intentions do not equate to good actions.”

Alina caught herself before her fingers could touch the antler-linked choker. Brushing her hand through her hair instead, she said, “Will you at least hear him out if he does ask? I know he’d appreciate it, and not just as a show of support.”

Leaning back in her seat, Genya thought about it. “Tell him to send over another afternoon tea tray with those delicious pastries their cook makes for his mother, and I’ll consider his proposal more favourably.”

With a snort, Alina shook her head. “You’re terrible.”

“You mean fabulous,” she corrected with a grin. “Did he ask you to join him as well?”

Alina swallowed. “He did.”

“And you said…?”

“I told him I’d think about it.”

“Alina!”

“Not because of him!” she insisted, and then winced at the look of disbelief thrown her way. “I mean, not in the way you’re thinking. When I said he has big plans…” Despite herself, her fingers found the golden scales around her wrist again. “Do you remember Baghra?”

“Of course. Who could forget her?” Genya said, not unkindly.

“Did you ever study that philosopher with her, the one who wrote about the theory behind the amplifier laws? There’s a line from one of those lessons that always stayed with me, and Baghra used it as a caution against seeking too much power. I’m worried… I’m worried that Nikolai might start becoming something he’s trying to avoid. Not someone looking for as much power he can get, necessarily, but someone who becomes twisted by his own ambition and desires.” Even the most brilliant of men could fall victim to greed, pride and obsession, Baghra had warned. “I can’t watch that happen to him, Genya.”

The look on Genya’s face told Alina she understood. With a gentle smile, she reached over and squeezed Alina’s arm. “Sounds to me like that’s all the more reason for you to come,” she said gently. “If anyone can keep Nikolai Lantsov grounded, Alina, it’s you.” 

***

_The shadow became a man, became a Fjerdan, and he bore them no mercy as he raised the gun - so Alina let instinct take over. The light flew out from her hand without pause for thought, hitting the man in the eyes. He jerked away, and Alina brought a sheet of sunlight down between them, cutting him off from her and Mal. It was only temporary, she knew, bending down to try and drag Mal to his feet again, but if it could buy them even a second, she’d take it._

_When she looked up again, the Fjerdan was stepping through the light curtain, one arm shielding his eyes, the gun still raised._

_A resounding boom split the air around them. Alina jumped, Mal flinching in her arms, and the Fjerdan spun around sharply on the spot. With his attention diverted, she wasted no more time, giving one final heave and pulling Mal up enough that he could finally get a foot flat on the ground. She braced herself under his arm, ready to lead them somewhere out of harm’s way, when something happening to the Fjerdan caught her eye; black tendrils had pierced the light curtain, snaking their way through the air towards the gunman, who stood rooted in place. His breathing grew quick and panicked as the darkness drew near him, and at the last second he turned to run. The tendrils were quicker, though - in the blink of an eye they wrapped around the Fjerdan’s chest, ankles, arms, throat, snapping taught like whips. The man let out a strangled cry, garbling something in his native tongue, and then in the space of another heartbeat he was pulled back through the sheet of light, silence all that remained of him._

_Alina stared, hardly daring to breathe._

_“Let’s go,” a strained voice said in her ear, and she blinked. The light of her curtain was dimming. “Alina, let’s go.”_

_It was Mal - shaking out of her reverie, Alina turned them both, intending to head through one of the side-streets and away from any further possible danger; but before they could even take two paces, someone else was blocking their way. Tall, sun-bronzed skin, wavy brown hair._

_A red leather jacket._

_The Grisha looked between them and the fading sheet of light. “How did you do that?” he asked, gaze trained on Alina._

_She held onto Mal a little tighter. “I didn’t.”_

_He narrowed his eyes and moved closer. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”_

_“She didn’t,” Mal said, but the Grisha ignored him completely._

_“I’ll ask again,” he said, stopping close enough that Alina could make out the deep red stitching at the cuffs of his jacket. “How did you make that happen?”_

_Realising they couldn’t possibly overpower this Grisha - not with Mal in his current state, and not with that jacket on the man’s shoulders - Alina lifted her chin and answered, “What will you do with us if I tell you?”_

_Another Grisha wearing a red jacket emerged from the receding dust. The first man’s face cut with a smile. “That all depends.”_

“What do you think, Alina?” 

“Hm?” Lifting her head, Alina found herself being stared at from all angles, the red, blue, and purple leather-clad Grisha surrounding the table all turned expectantly to her. She looked right, and found Zoya glaring at her urgently. Turning left, she found Aleksander watching her patiently, the question still in the air before him. The table was littered with boxes of books, shoes, arts and crafts materials, old toys and board games, even tableware sets. It suddenly felt quite warm under her kefta. “Um… what was the question again, sorry?” 

Directly opposite her, Ivan rolled his eyes. Alina imagined him tossing his wavy hair like a disgruntled horse. “As a token of thanks for your visit to Novyi Zem, the Apparat has sent a collection of copies of the _Istorii Sankt’ya_. He claims they used to be given to Grisha children once they came into their power. Do you think we should distribute them amongst the schools, or not?” 

As he’d promised, Aleksander had soon emailed her the details of the scheduled donation drive he intended to make for the Grisha boarding schools around Ravka. It was a bi-annual endeavour, part of his desire to see Grisha orphans well looked-after, and normally an affair solely left in his hands. This wasn’t the first time Alina had assisted in the task, but it was the first in a while, and she’d forgotten just how thorough the day was. All the gathered supplies had to be logged then distributed as fairly as possible, with Aleksander preferring to gather everyone’s opinions before finalising the arrangements. He picked a selection of the Grisha who worked for him to participate in the discussion, and while Alina was unsurprised to see a majority of Corporalki present with a few Etherealki and one or two Materialki, what had surprised her was his offer for her to bring some of her own Grisha friends to the meet; so she’d asked Zoya, Nadia and Harshaw to come along, knowing David would be too absorbed in his work, Genya was meeting with Nikolai and that Tolya and Tamar wouldn’t set within a hundred feet of Aleksander if they could help it. Adrik would have wanted to come, but Nadia had asked that he be kept out of underworld business for as long as possible. 

After a little further debate on the _Istorii Sankt’ya_ books, in which the decision not to distribute them was reached, the last of the supplies were delegated and Aleksander gave the order to pack up and set out. The plan was for the entire group to convoy from school to school to drop off the supplies, with a few Grisha staying behind at each one to socialise with the children and teachers and get a general report on the school’s progress. There were thirteen schools in total, and Aleksander assigned people in groups of two or three. It didn’t go unnoticed that he and Alina were paired for the final school together. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Nadia asked quietly as the convoy was being loaded up. 

Alina shot her a smile. “Of course. We’ve been working together fine for months now, I’m not worried. Besides,” she added, “today’s all about the children.” 

“True,” Nadia agreed. “I hope they like what we’ve got for them.” 

“Oncat’s never been around kids before,” Harshaw said, rubbing the chin of the cat draped around his shoulders. Oncat purred, flexing her claws in and out of the leather of his kefta. “She’s looking forward to playing with them.” Having seen Oncat interact with other people through nothing but hisses and claws, Alina hoped ‘playing with them’ wasn’t as sinister as she feared. 

“Hopefully, they’ll be too obsessed with her to bother us,” Zoya said. “The brats are so demanding.” 

“But Zoya,” Alina chimed, “I thought you’d relish the opportunity to start a cult following?” 

“Not with a gaggle of snotty, barely-in-control, walking disasters who just want you to make their stupid paper windmills spin around over and over again.” 

“And not without a personality to form a cult on, anyway,” Harshaw added, and Zoya smacked his shoulder, making him jerk away and prompting a displeased hiss from Oncat. Zoya folded her arms hastily. 

“Ready, Alina?” 

Looking over her shoulder, Alina found Aleksander waiting for her in his long, black leather kefta, the coat stopping just above his knees instead of at the waist like hers. When she’d first been introduced to him, he’d offered to have her kefta designed similarly, but she’d insisted on having the same jacket style as the rest of the Grisha so she didn’t stand out too much. The second compromise had been the colour - she’d refused to wear black like him, a decision she was never more grateful for than she was nowadays, so he’d picked out white instead. The only problem with that was that she’d since heard far more about opposites attracting than she’d ever thought possible. 

“Coming,” she told him, and bid goodbye to her friends, none of whom seemed entirely comfortable leaving her alone in Aleksander’s presence. He swept an arm out in a gesture for her to walk to the front of the convoy with him, where his personal car sat waiting. She climbed into the backseat, almost sinking into the plush leather, the foot-wells absurdly carpeted. If she remembered rightly, it had been a gift to him from Lantsov, back when their alliance was freshly formed. The company who made it were Materialki specialists, and not only was every inch of the interior crafted with absolute comfort in mind, but the mechanics beneath the car’s body were top of the line, and the exterior had been forged to provide absolute protection from bullets, explosives and Inferni fire. Cars like this didn’t come cheap. As far as friendly gestures went, it was exceedingly generous. 

Alina knew Aleksander was as fond of it as he was the Little Palace. 

The round trip played out smoothly enough, with thirteen vehicles gradually dropping in number the more stops they made. They travelled to districts and towns of varying prosperity, from the vibrant Os Alta itself to rural villages like Dva Stolba and Keramzin, even making a call at Kribirsk so Aleksander could arrange for the next supplies to be sent out to Novkribirsk and Os Kervo on the other side of the Fold. Alina had once offered to help with crossings made over the Fold, a wall of total darkness filled with monstrous volcra that split the small city of Os Kervo and its neighbouring villages from the rest of the land. Despite pointing out that her light could protect people from the monsters, Aleksander had refused to let her try; “If the Fjerdans and the Shu Han realise just how powerful you are, they’ll stop at nothing to either capture you or kill you,” he’d explained, “and the longer the Fold remains impenetrable, the less likely they are to try for Os Kervo should they ever succeed in taking this side of Ravka.” 

Politics over people, Alina had thought at the time, but she soon understood that keeping her powers on the down-low was as much protection for the people as using them to their full extent was. 

Eventually, Aleksander’s car was the last one remaining, and he and Alina were soon gliding to a stop outside the Grisha Academy of Balakirev. Although they’d been inside the other schools to greet the staff and hand over the supplies, Alina was looking forward to staying a bit and getting to talk to the students herself. 

The Balakirev Academy was a small one, with only fifteen students currently living there. The reasons they were in attendance ranged from their parents having been killed by anti-Grisha communities to general poverty to being abandoned once their powers came in. As an orphan who couldn’t even remember her life before Keramzin, Alina could hardly imagine knowing her parents outright hadn’t wanted her just because she wasn’t otkazat’sya. The revelation helped her understand Aleksander’s plight to unite Grisha a little more. Despite their pasts, however, the students were full of life and eager not just to meet her, but to also show her what they were learning and capable of on their own. One girl showed Alina her ability to juggle small fireballs, an older boy made intricate snowflake patterns out of flowing water, and the youngest boy there proudly told her about the injured rabbit he’d healed in the Academy’s gardens. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a coloured kefta?” one child asked. 

“Well,” Alina said cautiously, “I’m not a Materialnik, or a Corporalnik, or even really an Etherealnik. My power is more unique.” 

“What is it?” another voice piped up, and Alina exchanged a glance with Aleksander, who gave no indication to her whatsoever. 

Taking a breath, she spread her palms, letting a soft light spill from them. “I can summon light.” 

The room dissolved into wondrous gasps before erupting into a cacophony of more questions. Alina was at a loss for how to respond, particularly when someone called out for her to show them what she could do. “Um, well, I don’t think we have time -” 

“Come now, Alina,” Aleksander said, startling her with how close he was. “It wouldn’t hurt to put on a small display, would it?” The students cheered, and he turned to them. “Who’s afraid of the dark?” 

They all shook their heads, though Alina saw one girl step closer to her friend. 

“Good.” 

And with that he spread his arms, darkness pooling in his open hands before he brought them together, a sound like thunder making the children and gathering staff cry out in alarm, and then, slowly but surely, the room was smothered in blackness. When some of the younger ones began to sound anxious, Alina needed no further cue - little sparks burst forth from her hands, rising up in the darkness to illuminate everyone’s faces, slowly milling around until they settled into constellations high above, the children ooh-ing and aah-ing, pointing out the shapes they recognised. She moved the sparks slowly around, gathering them together and sending them streaking overhead like shooting stars, the students laughing and reaching up to feel them pass through their hands, and then delighting further still when she formed a single ball of light and sent it whizzing around and between them, fast and bright. Aleksander drew the darkness in a little, calling forth snake-like tendrils that curiously and playfully wrapped themselves around children’s legs and arms, slipping between their fingers, and Alina mimicked him with tiny sunbeams; soon their powers were intertwined, creating overlapping layers of sun and night, intricate weaves and dancing shadows, before Alina expelled it all in one final whoosh of light, warming everyone and lighting up every possible corner until the children themselves looked as if they were glowing. 

Alina loved it. Her power sang in her very core, fuelled by the students’ laughter and wonder, their applause as the room returned to its natural lighting. Sure, it might not have been helping people the way she intended to when she’d agreed to lend her efforts to the Lantsovs’ cause, but just for a short while she’d brought something wonderful to these children, and the looks on their faces was worth every second. Elated, she searched for Aleksander to share the moment, and was confused to find him absent. Quietly excusing herself with the staff, she went off in search of him, hearing him in conversation with the Principle in his office. 

“… figure like this? It’s too much, really, I can’t -” 

“Of course you can,” Aleksander cut in as Alina slipped through the door. “And I trust that, in turn, you’ll know who to send the children to when they’re ready.” 

“Yes, yes, always,” the Principle said, “but my family might start to ask where such money - oh, Miss Starkov…” 

Aleksander turned around. Alina took in his relaxed stance, the wideness of the principle’s eyes, the slim envelope in his hands, and promptly left. 

“Alina -” 

She ignored him, striding through the Academy corridors and out towards the car, a hot, roiling nausea building up in her gut. She knew Aleksander Morozova was many things, and equally capable of cruelty as he was kindness, but she couldn’t reconcile what she’d just witnessed with the vision he so strongly believed in: a world where Grisha were free and equal citizens wherever they were born, who didn’t need to fear having their lives put at the control or mercy of others simply for being different. 

Unsurprisingly, he caught up with her almost as soon as she was outside. “Alina, wait,” he called, overtaking and coming to a stop in front of her when she didn’t respond. “That wasn’t very polite.” 

Alina stared at him. “ _Polite_?” she spat, and pushed past him in disgust. She stalked past the car, too, suddenly repulsed by the luxury of its interior. 

He followed her. “Where are you going?” 

“Home!” 

“On foot?” 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, that will take you hours. I can have you dropped off directly.” She ignored him, and kept walking even when he stopped. “Alina, if we take the car, there’ll be nowhere for me to go; you can say whatever you feel you need to say to me, and I’ll listen.” 

Alina slowed. He had a point, and she cursed him for knowing her well enough to lure her back (then cursed herself for ever letting it reach that point). With only some reluctance, she turned and strode over to the car, refusing to look at him even when they were both seated inside. As furious as she was with him, it wasn’t until they were on the main road that she could form a coherent sentence; “You’re _buying_ the students!” 

He sighed shortly. “That is not what was happening.” 

“Oh really?” she snapped. “You gave the Principle money. He said he understood who to send the students to, and I highly doubt either of you were alluding to the Os Alta House of Grisha Arts. That seems like a _purchase_ to me!” 

“I’m merely making personal investments in these schools.” 

“You’re taking away their freedom to choose where they go in life after they’ve finished their education.” 

“Or preventing them from being left to struggle in a city that doesn’t want to help them.” 

“You don’t know that - there could be all sorts of job openings waiting for them. They might already have dreams about where they want to go and work!” 

“Is being offered a ready place of sanctuary and work with us such a terrible alternative?” 

“And what if they don’t want to join your fight?” 

“Then they’re free to go.” Alina faltered, and he pressed the advantage. “I’m not buying _anybody_ , Alina. As I said, it’s an investment into making sure that Grisha orphans, like yourself, are not left floundering the moment the system turns them out and leaves them to their own devices. I’m well aware that not every Grisha is willing to join our lifestyle, and I won’t force anyone who isn’t.” 

“But you’ll force them to make that choice before any other by bribing those close enough to push them your way.” He turned away with a displeased expression, and she shook her head. “Did Baghra teach you to do that?” 

His head snapped back. “There’s no need to bring her into this.” 

“What would she make of you manipulating _children_ to fight for a cause you’ve already lied to them about?” 

“Sometimes the means justify the ends,” he said sharply. “If placing bribes and making alliances with people I don’t care for is the way to see this war ended, then don’t think I won’t do just that; and if I cannot guarantee safe freedom for all Grisha, then I will do all that I can to stay true to the promise that _my_ Grisha are safe first.” 

“They are not _your_ Grisha!” He opened his mouth to speak again, but Alina cut him off; “Tell me the truth, Aleksander. What are you going to offer the Grisha who follow you when this war comes to an end? Are you going to let them go? Or are you going to push them into another fight they didn’t entirely freely sign up for?” 

This time, when he looked at her, his eyes were dark. “You know as well as I do,” he said, “that no treaty will stop the witch-hunts and the butchery that our people suffer beyond Ravka’s borders.” 

Alina swallowed, because in that respect he was right, yet she kept her gaze straight. “But there are better ways to stop that than deceiving people, and using them as pawns and bargaining chips.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that what you think I saw you as?” 

“I -” Alina stopped short, fleetingly confused as to how the argument had suddenly fallen onto her, but then his words sank in and she laughed. “I’m not stupid, Aleksander.” 

“I know -” 

“The Lantsovs only agreed to ally with you after you introduced me to them.” 

“And look what we’ve achieved together since,” he said. “Yes, the Lantsovs have valuable connections and money, but fancy houses and rigged horse races aren’t what draw people to support a cause. I meant what I said the other day: you’re the kind of person people follow without needing to be asked - those children back there adored you. Lantsov and his sons are in awe of you, too, though they won’t all admit it, and they made that alliance upon meeting you because they understood what they were seeing. The world is made of light and dark, Alina, and if my gift means I must work in the shadows, then you’re the one who needs to bring light to people’s lives.” 

She thought about how far he cast those shadows, from the shining centre of the Os Alta district to the furthest villages within its sights - and then some, to the ashen remains of Novkribirsk beyond the Fold, where there may or may not have been Kerch slaver holding houses. She swallowed, and said, “You mean by blinding people to what you’re really doing.” 

It was all he’d ever used her for: ‘representing’ him in meetings he couldn’t attend; showing off for Ravkan socialites who wanted to boast about having met the Darkling and ended up enamoured with his Sun Summoner; playing on her own need for his approval to ensure she stayed with him. One of the last times they’d spoken, Baghra had told Alina she’d lost any hope of redemption for her son, and Alina felt that now she finally understood what her old mentor meant. 

“Nikolai was right,” she said, suddenly weary. “You can’t change. You’ll take us from one war to the next until you’re the only one left.” 

Aleksander smiled, cold and with a bitter edge, his eyes drifting down to her neck. “Oh, Alina,” he said softly. “I won’t be the only one.” 

And somehow, despite everything that had grown and come tearing down between them, she sensed he was right.

***

After a near-silent journey home, during which Aleksander had only spoken to issue new orders to Ivan over the phone, Alina trudged up the stairs to her apartment, more exhausted than she’d ever felt. She was hoping she’d be able to shut herself in her room and hide until it all went away, whatever ‘it all’ was, but when she opened the door into the living room she found Mal sprawled on the sofa flicking through TV channels. “Hey,” he said, not looking her way. “How did it go?” 

“It…” The joy of being able to make the Balakirev children laugh was now vastly overshadowed by her argument with Aleksander. All of a sudden, the choker around her neck felt too tight, and the bracelet had left her wrist clammy and uncomfortable. Rubbing a scar on the palm of her hand, Alina sucked in a breath, and Mal turned his head. 

“Alina?” 

When Baghra died, Alina had been determined to stay strong in the wake of the tragedy, keeping her head high in front of her friends, the Lantsovs, the Grisha, and anyone else who saw her - even Aleksander, who had lost a mother rather than a mentor. Within the safety of her own four walls, though, she’d stifled sobs as long as she could before weeping into her pillow, trusting no-one but Genya to bear witness to the aftermath the following morning. Mal had known, though, in that almost-supernaturally intuitive way of his, and he’d told her then that she should have gone to her friends, could have grieved with them and they wouldn’t have thought any less of her for it. Now, Alina was powerless to stop both the tears that spilled over and the embrace he wrapped her in - and it was a _relief_ to let go and know that someone was there to catch her without an ulterior motive. 

Mal asked nothing of her at first, simply guiding her to the sofa and fetching simple things like tissues and water, waiting patiently until she could talk through the sniffles. She told him about the bribe she’d witnessed at the Academy, the argument in the car on the way back and her concerns about what Aleksander saw in his future, what that meant for the Grisha and even the otkazat’sya, to whom he gave little to no thought. And when used tissues littered the coffee table, when Alina finally ran out of tears and words, he said, “What were the kids like?” 

Lifting her head, Alina frowned at him. “What?” 

“The kids at the Academy. Tell me what they were like.” 

“Um…” Sniffing, she said, “They were sweet. Some of them were there under the worst circumstances imaginable, but you wouldn’t have known. They liked my light.” 

“Yeah?” he said, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Did you give them a show?” 

Gradually, he coaxed the details out of her; Alina recounted the tricks she and Aleksander had pulled off to make the children’s eyes grow wide with wonder, how they’d laughed and cheered and pleaded with her for more, and importantly, how _good_ she’d felt for doing it for them. “Well. Right up until I realised I was a cover for something more nefarious.” 

Mal shook his head. “No, you weren’t.” 

She glowered at him. “It was all a distraction, Mal. A pretty little light display to hide what was really going on. And I was just as blind as the rest of them. This is why it’s better if I don’t use my powers.” 

He studied her for a moment. “You remember that first week after the King and the Darkling reached an accord?” She snorted at his use of the nicknames, but nodded. “And there was that party at the Little Palace, and one of us might have gotten really, really badly drunk?” 

Despite her mood, Alina grinned at the memory. “I dragged Tolya and Tamar out to try and find you when you wandered off,” she recalled. “They’d met you for about ten minutes a few hours before.” 

“But you managed to find me.” 

“About to make another really, really bad decision.” 

“And do you remember what you said to me?” He chuckled when she shook her head. “You said, ‘No, Mal, don’t get the stupid, angsty tattoo, there’s more to your life than doom, gloom and martyrdom’! What,” he said when Alina laughed into his shoulder, “that’s how it happened. You were very dramatic.” 

“I don’t think I was,” she said through her weak giggles. 

“Whatever. The point is,” he continued, squeezing her comfortingly, “you were right. Just because I was upset about you starting a new chapter in your life didn’t mean that I had to force my story to adapt to yours, too. I had the chance to embrace a new path of my own. And so do you, now. Okay, so the Darkling likes to hide behind you and do bad things in the shadows - you’ve said it yourself, he’s always done that and he always will. But you don’t have to play his game, Alina. You didn’t put on that light display so that he could pass a bribe without being seen, you did it to make those kids smile; and you can choose to do so again, whenever and wherever you want. You should shine your light, but not to hide what he’s doing - shine it to illuminate what _you_ want people to see.” 

Rubbing her face, Alina said, “So, you think I should turn the spotlight on him? Show him for what he really is?” 

“Maybe,” Mal said with a shrug. “Or you could show people things that you think would make them happy. Would those kids have cared to see their Principle being bribed?” 

“Perhaps it was something they needed to see.” 

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “Need and want are different things, though.” 

“Yeah…” Like Nikolai inviting her and Genya to the Sikurzoi. With a deep sigh, Alina leant on Mal further. “I loved him, once,” she admitted, her voice raw. “There was something between us that meant we knew each other almost as well as we knew our own names. That hasn’t changed, not entirely, but now I have no idea if he loved me because he needed me or because he genuinely wanted me.” 

“Does it matter?” Mal murmured. 

The answer was surprisingly clear. “No.” What had passed between her and Aleksander had passed - she was no longer tied to him, and as Mal pointed out, her power was hers to wield how she wanted. If he was so intent on continuing his war in the shadows, she could at least show the Grisha in his clutches that there was more waiting for them in the world than dying for a dubious cause. They could make a difference, help Ravka take steps towards a better future, united with the otkazat’sya Ravkans. Alina breathed in again, and the air in her chest felt lighter. She smiled, lifting a hand to run the pad of her thumb against the antlers at the side of her throat, the article less constricting when she reminded herself it wasn’t a collar. “Not anymore.” 

Mal noticed the change in her tone, and frowned down at the necklace. “You know, I never really understood why you never take that thing off,” he mused. “I thought you’d have gotten rid of it by now.” 

Alina shook her head, looking down at the gold bracelet adorning her wrist. “They’re good reminders.” 

“Reminders?” 

Light shone from her palm, warming their faces and brightening her smile. “That the power to remove them and the choice to do so are mine alone.”

***

Pinning Nikolai down when he wasn’t expecting you was a difficult endeavour. On one particularly long search, in which he managed to vanish for a week, Zoya had commented they would have a better chance finding the mythical firebird. Luckily, Alina and Tamar had been through the song and dance enough times to know which places to check first, and after two failed tries it was third time’s the charm; Tamar parked the car a short walk away from one of the airfield’s large hangars, the great doors open enough to suggest something happening inside, and together they ventured closer to see whether the elusive ‘Prince’ could be spotted. 

Inside, aircraft technicians and Grisha Fabrikators were hard at work on various parts of the _Bittern_ , a cargo plane Nikolai was in the process of ‘reconfiguring’ for his own uses. The hangar was a hubbub of noise, machinery whirring away here and there whilst people scurried back and forth with raw materials, old parts and all sorts of blueprints and documents. It was almost impossible to find Nikolai himself, but after shouting the question a few times, someone was able to fetch him.

“Ladies!” he greeted them, a pair of welding goggles sat haphazardly on his forehead, the lower half of his face grey up until the distinct marks where they should have been placed. “This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I was hoping to have a word with you,” Alina said, “about your recent proposition?”

He flashed her a grin made brighter by the soot around his mouth. “Colour me intrigued,” he said, and gestured out of the hangar doors. “Shall we?” 

Tamar went in search of coffee instead, leaving Nikolai and Alina to step out into the bright light of the day. When they were far away enough that the noise of the work going on behind them was dim, Nikolai said, “I didn’t expect you to come out all this way, you know. You could have just called.” 

Alina gave him an exasperated look. “We did call, Nikolai. Five times.” 

“Did you?” He pulled out his phone, eyebrows rising up towards his hairline. “I’m going to enjoy those voicemails, aren’t I?” 

“I think Tamar insults you quite colourfully in Shu.” 

He chuckled. “Wonderful. That one I’ll save for after an evening with my family.” 

“About your trip to the mountain base,” Alina began as he put the phone away. “I have some questions first.” 

“Fire away.” 

“You say you want it to be more than just a hidden intelligence outpost. How would you ensure it was used so?” 

Startled by the formality of her question, Nikolai took a moment to think. “I’d have people there I trust, naturally,” he said. “People I know don’t have interests in espionage, or someone else asking them for reports on the sly. And I could always drop in on the place myself from time to time. Nothing like a spontaneous visit to keep people on their toes, don’t you think?” 

“You wouldn’t worry about ensuring their loyalty?” 

“If I had to worry about that, I wouldn’t be sending them in the first place.” 

“Would you ever send me in your stead?” 

“And miss out on all the fun? You wish.” 

“So you wouldn’t use this base as a front for something else? Something you wouldn’t want to tell anyone about?” 

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “I may not always share the whole truth, but I’d never lie about my activities there. It _is_ still going to be used as an outpost, don’t forget, so some secrecy and discretion will be required to keep it off our enemies’ radars.” 

“One last question,” she said, and he tipped his head expectantly. “When you said you wanted me there, what exactly did you mean by that?” 

Turning away, Nikolai gave a close-lipped chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “I always underestimate how adept you are at getting past my best defenses,” he said quietly, turning back to her with a murmured, “More fool me.” He drew in a breath, brow furrowing slightly, before properly answering her. “Do you remember when I first suggested we put on the air of romantic interest? A ‘political alliance’ to solidify the union between the Grisha and my family for after the war?” 

It had been shortly after things ended between her and Aleksander. “And I kicked you in the -” 

“Yes,” he said with a cough, “you did. Well, suffice to say, over time, my reasonings behind the idea have become… somewhat less politically-inclined. Don’t misunderstand, there are still plenty of political benefits to be had from our partnership, but they’re not what I’m primarily concerned with anymore.” His gaze settled on her choker, then down further to her bracelet. “I want you there, Alina, because I want you to see what I see: the possibilities of a future that is ours to make of it as we will.” 

_What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men._

Alina looked back at the aircraft hangar, at the _Bittern_ sat patiently whilst Grisha and otkazat’sya alike tended to her. She recalled Genya’s words about being able to keep Nikolai grounded, and realised she had been wrong. You didn’t keep a man like Nikolai Lantsov _grounded_. You let him free, free to come up with innovative ideas with a quietly eccentric Materialnik, so that he could spin stories of jewellery made from mythical creatures, and because somebody in this world of old shadow wars and games of manipulation was needed to look up at the sunlit mountain tops and say _we can go higher_. Mal had said she should shine her light on things she wanted people to see, and where better for the Sun Summoner to blaze her brightest than up in the sky? 

“Yes.” 

For a second, Nikolai looked stunned, then he raised an eyebrow. “Yes…?” 

“I’ll go to the Sikurzoi with you.” 

He relaxed into a grin. “Fantastic,” he said. “I’ll add your name to the roster right away.” Pausing, he added, “I don’t suppose that was a two-fold ‘yes’, was it?” 

There would be much to do at the Sikurzoi base, and now that she knew what both men were reaching for, Alina knew she’d have to warn Nikolai about Aleksander’s own vision of the future and deal with that sooner rather than later. But in that moment, with the first steps ready and waiting to be taken towards a new horizon, Alina smiled at her friend and said to him, “It’s like you always say, Nikolai: nothing’s _impossible_.”


End file.
